"For as long as you will. I want to tell you the story she told me on her death-bed. You have been so good to me—no brother could have been more—that I can have no secrets from you. Besides, you must understand why it is I will return to Mr. Walraven's no more."
"No more?" he echoed in surprise.
"Never again. I never want to see him again in this world. I will tell you. I know the miserable secret is as safe with you as in my own breast."
If Mollie had loved Hugh Ingelow less dearly and devotedly than she did, it is doubtful if she would have revealed the dark, sad history Miriam had unfolded. But he had her heart, and must have every secret in it; so she sat and told him, simply and sadly, all her father's and mother's wrongs. Mr. Ingelow listened in horrified amaze.
"So now, you see, my friend," she concluded, "that I can never cross Carl Walraven's threshold more."
"Of course not," cried Mr. Ingelow, impetuously. "Good heavens! what a villain that man has been! They ought to hang, draw, and quarter him. The infliction of such a wife as Madame Blanche has been is but righteous retribution. You should expose him, Mollie."
"And myself? No, no, Mr. Ingelow. I leave him in higher hands. The mill of the gods grinds slow, but it grinds sure. His turn will come, be certain of that, sooner or later. All I will do is never to look upon his guilty face again."
"What do you mean to do, Mollie? But I suppose you have no plan formed yet."
He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, looking at her askance, and Mollie sighed wearily.
"Yes, I have a plan. I intend to leave New York as soon as possible after to-morrow."